Just a Little Prompting

Many of you have seen the status update I posted on my Facebook page the other day.

"I've been starting each morning with a writing prompt for journaling asking silly questions (ie: if people walked like crabs what would life be like?). This morning I was preparing to put one on the board when a student made a suggestion for a writing prompt. "Can we write about what Jesus means to us?" My heart just about melted, and I've never audibly heard the voice of The Lord speak, but I think I did this morning. Now I'm reading all the testimonies about who Jesus is to each 2nd grader in my class. Wow. I'm still blown away how good God is!"

This little event really got some of my brain gears turning..

When is the last time an adult told me what Jesus means to them?

When is the last time I told someone (of my own accord and joy) what Jesus means to me?

Well, for starters..I should tell you that life on a missions base is full of "Jesus did this for me" conversations. I  love how most anyone I bump into and ask casually about how their life has been will usually result  in a spontaneous testimony of a victory they have seen in their life because of Jesus' intervention, or how the Lord has miraculously provided for them. My life is so full of the goodness of the Lord raining all around me, BUT just talking and being excited about the character and personality of Jesus is a bit different..

So, I want to tell you about what Jesus means to me. Before you tune out another "count your blessings" sermon, I want you to understand me.

I used to think God was boring, moody, and hard to reach. I used to think that He would only love me if I looked a certain way. I thought I had to play by a set of rules and jump through the right holes to have any hope in life. I thought that finding His will for my life was a good goal, but if I couldn't even keep these "rules" and look the right way that it would be just impossible find what He wanted me to do with my life.

That thought process began to build a layer of resentment in my heart toward me and every other "God-lover" out there because I was measuring myself up to their standards. The problem was that each person's standards were different and some cared what I did and how I felt, but most really didn't. If one girl seemed to find success in the eyes of the church then apparently she was a good "rule keeper" and somehow had the secret for jumping through hoops. I would immediately resent her for being "so good" at whatever it was she had. Then I would try to find the person who had done it wrong and obviously had a bad reputation so I could measure myself against her and feel satisfaction that I was doing better than her. You can imagine the gossip and malice that flourished in my world with this kind of mind set.

My conscience held me to a higher account than to openly rebel. My parents have taught me to respect authority, so I never obviously or broadly shared my disenfranchisement with this "good at God" act I thought everyone was trying to put on. But I secretly rebelled. It started in my heart. Viewing authority with resentment and being respectful to get under the radar. Then I began cutting corners when I thought no one was looking. I'd do what felt good to me when the coast was clear. I felt guilty. all. of. the. time. I thought every conversation with an authority figure would uncover the double life I knew I was living. I grew bitter, and in that bitterness grew a carelessness of my own life and value. I didn't trust anyone. This continued for quite a while. I made decisions for myself based off that world view. It continued until I reached a point of recognition of who I had become.

I looked in the mirror.

I looked in the mirror of God's Word to see (for myself, not just what a preacher told me) what I was apart from the LOVE of JESUS.

He told me that everyone has really messed up their lives. EVERYONE. Me..the girl that was really good at that one thing, and even applauded in church..the girl that has a bad reputation.. each of my authority figures I resented so much.

Then He told me that "people are made right with God when they believe that Jesus sacrificed his life" NOT when they dress the right way, or look a certain way, or even do the right things on a stage in church. He even said that it's THAT SIMPLE so that NO ONE can boast or brag about what they have done right in life to be right with Him.

He then told me that He wanted to transform me into a new person and change the way I think, SO THAT I could learn His will for my life. HE was going to do the work in my life, so HE could show me what I had been wanting to see, but felt there was no way possible to see it.

This was like water to my dry, cracked, and bleeding lips. A cleansing rain after walking for years in a dusty dry desert. This news SAVED MY LIFE. I had been believing a lie, and the truth had just been revealed.

So now, let me tell you what Jesus means to me!

Jesus means life. John 10:10 says,  "I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." He didn't come to tell me to live in a box wearing all black all the time. He came to give me a life lived TO THE MAXIMUM! If anyone knows the value of one life to live, it's Jesus! He created me and has the whole exciting plan for my life!

Jesus means freedom. I am no longer bound by the chains of judgement and bitterness that once ruined every day I lived. I live in glorious freedom to walk out my salvation with joy and unbridled love for the MAN who died to one day be with me. I can freely love even the people that are rude to me, that do judge me, that do think I'm nutso because Jesus has freely put that love inside my heart for me to use. I am free from the consequences of sin as I walk in His footsteps leading me far away from the ditches I used to crash into emotionally,  physically, mentally, and spiritually.

Jesus means peace. Not the hippie, every one make love not war kind of peace. But the peace that doesn't make sense that stays in my heart when my life is no longer in my control; or when the world I used to live in has fallen away and I'm in a new place, with new street names, with new faces everywhere I go. Or the peace that stays near me when I have to have a tough conversation with someone and I can't control their reaction. I have that peace because I know the God of the universe who has EVERYTHING in the universe under His careful watch and protection.

Jesus means joy! Each one of the things I've listed gives me such incredible joy! Just talking about how good He is to me, and what He's done in my life brings me such absolute joy!

So back to the original discussion of how this subject was "prompted." One of my students wanted to write about what Jesus meant to her, and that afternoon as I read what my students wrote, I wept.

Even children know how wonderful Jesus is. 

So, I've saved the best for last. Please, enjoy what my delightful students shared with me in their journals. Grammatically, it's not perfect, but in Jesus eyes, it's exactly what He loves to see.

"What Jesus means to me"

"He gives me kindness. He gives me faith in hard times. He comforts me when I'm scared. God loves me when I feel like no one else loves me. He leads me when I'm lost."

"Jesus means goodness to me. Jesus means kindness to me. Jesus means peace to me. Jesus means gentleness to me. Jesus means helper to me."

"He's like my father, my heavenly father. He loves me for who I am. He protects me from Satan. He gives me the kindness. He loves what I do."

"I think that Jesus is awesome. I think that he is amazing. I like about him is that he created me. I think that he loves children. Jesus means to me that he is my King."

"I think he is a master. He is a Messiah. He is a savior. He is a prophet man. He is a kind and loving."

"Jesus means to me the Savior. Jesus means to me three in one. Jesus means to me creator. Jesus means to me my friend. Jesus means to me a good friend."

"I think he rocks. He is so cool. He is the best. He rocks so much. He is the best of all."

"He is my savior. He is the Christ. He is God's son. Jesus died for us. I love Jesus."

"I think Jesus is cool and awesome! Jesus protected me! He always mean something to me! Oh, he gets me out of traffic! Wow he does so many things for me! You should think about it! I wish I could be the same! It would be so cool! Do you know I wish everyone was sort of like God! That would be cool! It already is cool! I wish you could do the same!"

So, the question remains..

What does Jesus mean to you?

Just to brag a little...

Couldn't resist posting a little note I got to send out to my 2nd grade parents. My 2nd graders have worked so hard this week, and I know I have done my far share as well.

 Please, share in my joy as I celebrate my students' milestones! :)

Hello Parents!

What a week we have just come through! I'm so proud to tell you that 2nd Grade has just successfully graduated from Bar Models in math! The entire class received grades in the A and B range, and my heart couldn't be more proud of the hard work, sweat, and tears they have poured into learning these and getting them down. Truly, this was the climax of all the hard work they have put into learning math this year, and it really paid off!

I want to thank each of you for all the tutoring I know you were doing at home as they came home with these bar models and for all the words of encouragement you spoke into them. Truly, I felt I was teaching a 3rd grade class this week as I watched them use incredible self-control, good time management, and careful reading of all the instructions as we worked through this chapter.

We've been discussing how the Holy Spirit gives us the ability to be all of who we need to be in 2nd grade, and I watched in awe as they allowed Him to give them the help they needed to overcome this challenging week.

Praise the Lord!

Have a Happy (Homework Free) Thursday!

~Mrs. Freeman

My Super Stars working hard on their tests :)

Nothing, Except a Flask of Oil

Dedicated to: My Mom, Renate 

Thank you for teaching me how to give thanks even when there's not much there. This is the secret of abundance. Thanksgiving ushers us into HIS presence!

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A woman once lived in a little town. Usually seen wearing a faded bandana as a bonnet around her dark hair, and a kind timid smile playing at her lips, this woman was called "Ima" (Ee-ma) by her two sons. If anything could be said about her, it was that she was the hardest working housewife to be found in the neighborhood, and one look into her tender eyes would tell you of the great depths of love this woman possessed. Early in the mornings, her kitchen lamp would be visible from the street as she kneaded the dough that would be baked into sweet smelling but simple biscuits for her husband and eldest son to take to work. After brief farewells, she waved them off to their jobs and her youngest to school, and would be found in the back of their house beating out the laundry by hand to wash the clothing for the next day of work. Those that found her doing quiet tasks during the day would recall hearing her voice murmuring words quietly. Other times, it seemed she worked intensely with her brow furrowed occasionally pausing to fold her hands and bow her head. After sweeping the rooms inside with a broom made from twigs, dusting with an old bit of burlap, feeding and milking the goat tied to a post in the barren yard, gathering bits of coconut husk for kindling, visiting the market, trading her goats milk for wool, and starting a simple meal of flat bread and beans for the family she would prepare to greet her loved ones. Washing her face and retying her bonnet always helped make her feel beautiful for her husband, as most expressions of femininity were more extravagant than what she could afford.

Day after day, the repetition of daily chores and quiet pauses for prayer and thanksgiving continued.

The day came when great sadness visited this humble hearth. The husband and father that had so dutifully supported his family was crushed from a capsized wagon bearing bricks being transported from a neighboring town. The widow and sons mourned for the loss of their beloved husband and father, but as reality so often does, the financial implications of this disaster came to grips with this woman called Ima and her two boys all too soon. A man dressed in clothing a little brighter than what the neighbors wore came knocking at her door one morning. She set down the dripping shirt in her hands and carefully approched the front door where she had heard the noise. As she came around the corner of the house, she met a man with greasy black hair that fell into his eyes. He began to speak in a nasally voice,

"I've come to inform you that the total payment for the goat in your yard is due in a week.
He paused to rake his fingers through his hair, failing to remove the hair from his eyes. Scrunching up his face he said, "He seems to be quite a bit thinner than I remember at the time of our sale so I will not be accepting him as repayment. I will, however, will be taking him to ensure there is no temptation to not meet my, herrm, request.
He sniffed the air with a crooked nose and grunted.
"If you cannot pay, I will take your sons as payment instead."

He stepped back to untie the goat, and with the rope in his hand he spun on his heel to leave. Just before he stepped out onto the street, he turned back to say, "Too bad to hear of your loss," then disappeared down the street and melted into the blurring scene of folks going about their monotonous tasks.

She slumped to the ground, feeling more hopeless than she had in years. With no husband, no goat milk, and barely a quarter of the income they used to receive from her husband there seemed to be no way they would be able to repay their creditor the amount remaining for the goat they used for milk.

When both sons were home, she solemnly shared the news. They then bowed their heads together as Ima lead them in a prayer of thanksgiving just as they had done each evening prior.

"Yahweh, we thank you for your bounteous gifts. We thank you for your constant protection and care. We ask that the hands that continue to receive from you, bless just as we have been blessed."

Ima tenderly kissed each son on the head, and each one found their mattress praying for something to happen.

Three days later, with the clock still ticking until the payment was due, she had not been able to purchase food for her sons as she had carefully counted every coin in the house and sold everything he could at the market to pay back the creditor, all the while hoping for a miracle.

Out of habit, but mostly to distract herself from the imminent situation, Ima went into town on her usual route. A crowd had gathered around the well near the fruitstand in the middle of the market and she saw that people were listening to a man speak. Bits and pieces of what the man was saying met her ears, and as she heard more she began to understand who this man was. She asked the the person pressing into her from behind, "Is this the prophet from Samaria?"
"Yes!" came a curt whisper. "Elisha!"

Elisha! This man of God had followed the prophet Elijah until the day Elijah was taken away into the sky. The story went that Elisha carried a double portion of the annointing that Elijah had carried, in all the mighty miracles he had performed. Calling down rain from heaven, resurrecting a dead young boy, being feed by ravens; these were just a few of the miracles that Elijah had performed through the power of God. What could Elisha, with a double portion of that blessing, have to offer this tiny town?

Ima's voice called out in words that did not seem like her own, "My husband is dead, and you know how he served the Lord. Now a creditor has come, threatening to take my two sons as slaves!" She covered her mouth as soon as the words had come out, just hoping that no one had heard. But Elisha had stopped and was looking directly at her. She looked down, embarrassed that so much attention was now drawn to herself.

Elisha asked,"What can I do to help you?"

She froze, her head tingling from the shame she felt from her desperation. Her throat tightened as she struggled to think of anything to say.

He then asked, "What do you have?"

Her mind raced. She had just swept out the cupboard, removing the last earthly things they owned to sell earlier that day.
"Nothing at all," she feebly replied, but suddenly an image flashed through her mind.
"Nothing, except a flask of olive oil."

Elisha's sun tanned forehead crinkled with a raised brow, "Go to your neighbors' homes with your sons, and borrow as many empty jars as you can. Then go into your house with your sons and shut the door behind you.
He switched the smooth walking staff he was holding to the other hand and motioned as he spoke,
"Pour olive oil from your flask into the jars setting each one aside when it is filled."

She met his eyes meet briefly as her brain tried to understand what he was commanding her to do, and just as suddenly as her voice had interrupted him earlier, he continued on in what he had been saying to the crowd.

She numbly pushed her way back out, and began the walk back to her home.

Both sons had already arrived from work and school when she stepped inside the kitchen. She leaned against the doorpost with her hands wrapped around her middle as she explained what they were about to do. With wide eyes, they were astonished as each of their neighbors and friends graciously lent them pitchers and jars, and mugs, and bowls. When each house had been visited, they quickly walked back to their home and shut the door behind them.

"But we barely have enough oil for one meal, Ima!" the youngest protested as she lifted the flask and began to unscrew the the top. Her lips were taunt and bit between her front teeth as she lifted the flask above the first jar to be filled. How could this work? She wondered. How could it not work? And then she poured.

It didn't stop. All evening, the jars, mugs, pitchers, and bowls, were filled to the top and some (accidentally) to overflowing as mother and sons followed the prophets instructions. Finally, Ima asked for another container and eldest proclaimed, "That was the last!" and the last drop came out and the flask stopped pouring.

The next day, her sons stayed home to help bring the many containers to the market to sell the oil that Yahweh had provided. There was so much profit made that day that the goat was paid off, and a new goat purchased alongside the old, and enough money to provide meals for months as the eldest continued to work.

In the following days, the bounty of the Lord increased as their faith had been brought to new levels. The son found favor in the eyes of his employer and was able to care for his mother as long as her days went on. She never forgot how the Lord had been faithful, and had come through in abundance when they had nothing. Nothing, except a flask of olive oil.

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Original Story found in II Kings 4